Iracebeth of Crims
by TheFutilitarian
Summary: The conclusion to the Malice trilogy. Which means femslash. Yes. Well, maybe. Ah, heck... by now you probably know how it goes. Iracebeth's side of the story, liberally sprinkled with sweet lashings of Malice. Not actual lashings though. Sadly.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Alice in Wonderland, any version as it happens. I borrow these characters so I can have my fun with them. And by that, yes, I do mean torture them. After all, it's what I do best.

This is the third story, the previous two being _Mirana of Marmoreal_ and _Alice Kingsleigh_. Whilst you would probably survive reading this story as a stand alone, it would enhance your experience to read the other two so you can get an inkling of what Alice and Mirana might be thinking. That rhymes. Go me.

**A/N:** Well, folks, here we are down the final winding road of the last instalment in the trilogy. I wish I could say we were close to the end, but that would require for me to definitely know the end. And it remains a mystery. Which I am okay with... it is how I like it. One thing I hope we get is resolution, perhaps even some actual Malice... well, you _know_. Or to be dead honest, just those two talking where they both have a semblance of some sanity! Either one is good.

So down the rabbit hole we go.

Again.

* * *

Long ago, in very much the same vicinity as present day Marmoreal, there lived an altogether different, if not entirely unconnected, queen. Isolde of Crims was heralded throughout every kingdom as being the epitome of graciousness, with a heart as full and open as her mind. She was unanimously loved by all her people and many suitors came from far and wide to quest for the Red Queen's hand. But that was where the matters usually got tricky, for once their eyes alit upon the monarch, even those who would dare to persist would do so out of lust for power, maybe sheer greed, but never love. For Isolde had been scarred at birth, with facial blemish so repulsive that no suitor had ever seen beyond it, their eyes averting in disgust. Yet patiently Isolde continued to receive them, never allowing her growing disenchantment to affect her judgement, remaining as fair and steadfast in her kindness to all, as in those days before she understood that she was destined to remain alone. Surrounding herself with loyal courtesans she mourned the loss of only one thing dear to her heart – a child – an offspring who would carry on the royal name.

From far away, Trillana, the queen of all the Faerie, watched Isolde through the years, her heart moved with compassion as it never had been by a human plight. Being only several hundred years old herself, she thought to cast a spell – an enchantment over Cederic, the king of Loeten – that he should only see Isolde for the good that lay inside. The spell was successful, but in her haste and youth, Trillana failed to bind the magic properly, and on the their wedding night the full eclipse cast darkness over all the land, and over faerie veils… and Cederic recoiled in horror when he saw Isolde for what she was… But not because he was repulsed, at least not by her scars, by then he was entirely in love; no, it was for a truly different reason… the one thing he had grown to despise were lies. Believing it was she that tricked him into this, he fled the kingdom vowing never to return, promising that he would spend the rest of all his days spreading the word about Isolde's treachery… and the duplicity of vain queens.

Devastated by unfounded accusations, inconsolable beyond all reason, Isolde wondered whether she had truly purpose to continue living and in her desolation, having found none, she sought to take her own life. Upon this circumstance, Trillana wept, vowing in return that her own folly and Isolde's sacrifice would have some semblance of a joyful end. Collecting Faerie tears, Underland's most influential magic, she came to Cederic, telling him of Isolde's fondest wish and of her own tricks and lies. Agreeing to fulfil Isolde's deepest longing, he acquiesced to raising Illianora – Isolde's child born of potent magic and enchantment, but inadvertently… betrayal and deceit.

The latter manifested early on but 'twas a while to display: from an early age Illianora of Crims was known to be selfish, capricious, sometimes outright cruel; but her otherworldly beauty and her father's doting love tended to mask it… at least at an early age. Later, the many suitors from the farthest outreaches of Underland were often pitted against one another, the future queen's own courtesans blanching in horror at their bloody ends. Yet none of them could bring themselves to say a word: some because they could not believe that one produced by two such monarchs as Isolde and Cederic could truly bear such unfeeling traits; some because they themselves could see their own reflection in the princess, and knowing her true nature, were far too clever not to take her side; some simply still were cowed for she was royalty… and so she flourished, believing herself righteous in her acts. Eventually, it was Theobald of Marmoreal that won the Illianora's hand and her heart, their marriage the most lavish in the land, celebrated by all in the surrounding kingdoms… except Trillana and the Faerie realm.

Incredulous, she gazed at Illianora from the shadows, watchfully tracking every callous deed, and on the day of Illianora's marriage she gave the princess one last chance – granting her five more years. Five years for the queen to change. Willing to trust in Theobald's good heart and his ability to see past superficial beauty, she chose to believe that with his love and guidance, Illianora would relinquish all her darkness, that she would become a worthy monarch, proudly carrying on her mother's name. Receding deep into her realm, she marked a day – the midnight of the May Eclipse – when her own powers would be drained by the moon, when she'd be at her most weak and could appear… human. That night, in five years time, she'd pass the ultimate in Faerie judgement – a trial to test Illianora's inner substance – – the outcome… whether the Faerie gift of life would be renounced.

And so true to her word, she did appear on that day, clothed not in luminescence but in shadows, dressed not in nature's vivid riches but in rags; but most of all, disfigured was her timeless Faerie beauty, left in its place her true face of a toothless, weathered hag. Approaching the queen just as the moon was sheathed by shadow, she begged just for a simple favour – kindness, an evening meal her only lowly humble demand. Her answer – "What is this? How many times must I request that commoners are kept out of my private chambers? Take her to the kitchen, feed her slops… or kick her out, I do not care either way. Just get her out of my sight."

Incensed by Illianora's inability to grant even a basic courtesy, Trillana prowled the halls of Crims in rage, awaiting the passing of the eclipse, all the while gathering essential knowledge. Not but an hour later, she appeared once again, just as a sliver of the moon kissed darkened balconies with its first breath of light. This time she caught them all: Illianora, Theobald and Cederic; the latter recognising her even in disguise.

"Your majesty…"

"Silence!" Trillana's shrieking voice clapped hands to ears, its pitch so high the fine glass of several statues crawled with sudden cracks. "I am here to retract what was so readily bestowed so long ago…"

"N-n-o." Cederic's voice trembled in fear. Falling to his knees, he bowed to the Faerie queen, "Please, you majesty. I do not know—"

"Oh but you do. For years you have both turned a blind eye to what she is, to what she does. Her outward beauty makes you just as sightless as her mother's scars had always clouded her suitors' vision. She doesn't deserve the gift of life, she never has done. Now I will right the wrong as best as I know how."

Understanding that something was terribly amiss, that for once she had erred with actual repercussions, Illianora started to cry but Trillana was far too wise to be taken in by artifice, too shrewd for crocodile tears.

Seeing that the queen would not be swayed by any of his daughter's pleas and bargains, Cederic played his only remaining card, "then take my life. We both know that you owe a debt to me, your majesty. That is my wish - the gift of life _will_ be relinquished, but in the process… you will right another wrong."

The Faerie queen rendered helpless in the face of such compassion, aware Cederic's words contained a measure of truth, cast her thoughts far and wide and came to a swift decision, pronouncing, "very well. A life surrendered for a lifetime spared."

"Thank you—"

"Don't thank me yet." The queen's face having slowly sparkled into once again exquisite ethereal beauty, her visage blighted with a sudden spiteful glower. "Humankind has once again proven themselves unworthy judges and more worthless bearers; yet sacrifice means Faerie magic will continue its existence, its power flowing through your daughters' veins. A punishment must be bestowed, one fitting of your crimes. From this day forth, the only thing you truly care about," the queen waved a hand towards the two rocking cradles in the corner, "will bear the weight of your own darkness, Illianora. And this time, I will not err on the side of kindness nor will I put my faith in you… they do not earn a shroud… their foul deeds will _outwardly_ taint their image."

"T-they are only innocent children…" Weeping in earnest now, Illianora implored for lenience.

"I do not change them but impose greater consequences to their choices. Don't ever forget who truly saddles them with their debt. "

"What will I tell them?"

"You can tell the truth or you can lie, I do not care either way." The queen's cold nod mocked Illianora's earlier words. "This stipulation is but for a sole purpose… no creature will be blind to your flaws again."


	2. Prophecy

******Disclaimer:** As in the prologue.

* * *

**Around Ten Years Ago – Shortly After Frabjous Day**

In the sparkle of the forest awash with morning dew, the beguiling curls of mist crept along the ground, winding round Tarrant's boots like an erstwhile cat. Which for all that Tarrant could tell was actually the case, given that Cheshire was prone to sneaking up on you, appearing out of nowhere as if by magic. Or was it truly magic? No soul had ever been able to tell for certain, and the one time Mally had dared to ask, Chess had simply grinned and winked, sweeping his tail across his body in a long smooth stroke, vanishing as if he'd never been. Taking a hint, they hadn't bothered to ask him since, preferring to simply grumble at the numerous, abrupt, and mostly unwelcome interruptions.

Tarrant clutched the parchment in his hand as he crept along, still puzzled by what he saw as unnecessary secrecy. The moisture in the air dampened the paper just enough that one could distinguish the barest hint of markings which would have meant nothing to most people, even in Underland. _Lurien_ was a language long dead to almost every one of its inhabitants, save for the wisest, the oldest, and in Tarrant's case – the most stubborn. Handed down through generations, it was the language of the _common folk_ his father had prided himself on saying. As every Hightopp child, Tarrant had initially rebelled against what he saw as unnecessary schooling, however, when his father had been killed in service to the former White Queen and the newly crowned Red Queen banished all who spoke 'the rebel tongue', learning it had become his purpose—his promise to walk his father's path. Wondering why Absolem would choose to use it now that a benevolent White Queen was once again in power, Tarrant continued to amble deep into the heart of Redfearne Forest – onto Huilten, the forest's oldest tree.

"Tis a fine morning for a stroll." Two round yellow eyes blinked out of nowhere in front of him, a ghostly, toothy grin stretching out underneath.

"Are ye nay getting a mite tired of scaring decent folk?"

"You don't appear terribly frightened."

"Hmph."

"Oh dear." A tail swished back and forth, somehow taunting with its languorous movement. "I had forgotten quite how rather disagreeable you happen to be before your morning tea."

"Make yerself useful and tell me why we're here."

"What makes you think I know?"

"Ye have a nasty habit of spying on folk."

"Nonsense! It is hardly _my_ fault that none of you can sense that I am there."

"Well, that happens to be one way of looking at it."

"It only matters how _I_ look at it."

"Enough of that deceptively smooth tongue. Misleading the queen does not sit easily with me; I've no penchant for your tricks this morn. So I will ask again – why are we here?"

Cheshire's entire body materialised on a nearby branch, tail folding round his admirable girth. Glance sharpening, he gently purred, "What do the Hightopps know of the Oraculum?"

"It is an ancient scroll, one that foretells the things to come. It brought us Frabjous Day. It showed us our champion."

"Perhaps…"

"You were there in spirit… if not in physical form."

"Indeed. Alice's actions that day have never been in doubt. However, a question does remain…"

"And what might that be?" Bristling, Tarrant glared at the cat, outraged that anyone who did not dare take part should question Alice's bravery on the battlefield.

"Your loyalty is to be commended, Hatter." The measured drawl wound round Tarrant's ears, the mist suddenly thickening to smoke, parting only to reveal the reclining sky blue caterpillar slowly drawing on an elongated pipe. Leisurely releasing several perfect puffs of smoke, Absolem continued, "But loyalty does not trump truth, and most of all, not here. She was much more than the Alice that she started… and yet… she was not _the_ Alice. Not quite yet."

"What are ye sayin'?"

"The mind is a most queer thing, especially that of a human. You ought to look inside at least but once. It is most… enlightening. In this, if nothing else, Cheshire is right—the question does remain. Is she _the_ Alice? Or did it simply make this Alice think she is?"

"What does it matter? She slew the Jabberwocky. Whether she is _the_ Alice or nay, she is _the_ champion."

"Maybe…" Breathing out smoke through his nostrils, Absolem closed his eyes.

In the ensuing stillness, Tarrant almost enquired as to whether the caterpillar was finished imparting his scant wisdom, but knowing better, bit his tongue. What seemed like near hours later, Absolem's eyes slowly blinked open again, "but then again, perhaps not."

Counting to ten, Tarrant tried to hide the sudden orange glow of his eyes, an outward sign of his temper and his madness. But there was very little he could do about his thickening brogue, "Well, I hate ta be goin' but I'm late fer tea."

"Show him." Absolem gave a regal nod.

Appearing over Tarrant's shoulder, Chess briefly hummed, in the next instant gracefully batting at the air with his paw. Out of thin air, as every single one of his blasted appearances, the familiar scroll materialised to hang for just an instant before unfurling downward, its tip just grazing the ground. Gaze flicking along its length to take in familiar images, Tarrant's jaw clenched tighter and tighter, his teeth almost audibly grinding as he reached the end. "Nay, 'tis not true. It must be broken."

Sardonic laughter surrounded them, each note a jarring crystal bell. "Sometimes I think you share much more with them than you have ever done with us. The Oraculum has never lied… and it would take more magic than the whole of Underland contains to sway it from its chosen course. No, it is not the scroll that shows a falsehood. Tis only those who interpret it that fail to discern the truth that it is trying to convey."

"This battle has already happened."

"The scroll has never shown the past."

"You were _there_," accusingly, Tarrant swept Chess with a piercing glower. "And you—" with more respect, Tarrant added to the caterpillar, "—you were the one that read the scroll."

"That may be so but even the oldest of us all is but a mere infant to its many years. It happens I merely scratched the surface. It would appear within the parchment lies a deeper meaning."

"How can yer be sure to be right _this_ time?"

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?" At Tarrant's low growl, Absolem drew out an equally long puff of smoke as his sigh, "The scroll, you silly boy… as all things, it must change. If what it shows has come to pass, its etchings will reveal another future."

"The queen should be the first to hear this. Why is it yer do not request her presence?"

"Have you ever put that brain of yours to use other than towards the hatmaking that you're so fond of? Or has it finally become so addled that a simple reasoning is now beyond you?"

"I dinnae come 'ere to be insulted."

"A phrase I am certain you have used on more than one occasion. However, if I must expand…" waving his tiny hand with the air of utter boredom, Absolem drawled, "you have served Mirana since you both were just a mere speck upon this universe's canvas. It stands to reason therefore that you must… know."

A trickle of oft-suppressed dread slithered down Tarrant's frame, Absolem's sharp gaze catching the imperceptible movement. "I see that I am correct in my assumptions."

Swallowing past an achingly dry throat, Tarrant whispered, "That—that was an isolated thing, the carelessness of a child."

"We both know it was not; it would be utter folly to pretend. You were a mere child yourself and yet you saw it. You must have gazed into her eyes. Tell me—swear on your father's grave that what you saw was pity, fear, and sadness—and forfeit your life if you did not see calculated cruelty, indifference… the darkness that divides the twain… and yet unites."

"Even… even if you speak the truth, she is no longer that girl. Her vows, her rule—they show a different queen."

"Fear," the smoke curled thicker, stinging Tarrant's eyes, "is a most potent potion, after all. Mirana has withdrawn from all temptation, yes… at least till now. But as we age, we outgrow our nightmares… and darkness only holds a terror for so long."

"Iracebeth…"

"A living incarnation of her qualms - banished from sight. How long before her lessons are forgotten?"

"Mirana would never…"

"For those oppressed there's only ever the absorbing of the bold strokes… but there's never the eye to see the fine lines underneath."

"Death to the bloody Big Head…" Tarrant muttered automatically and more than a trifle belligerently.

"I fear her death would not fulfil your aspirations."

"This isnae the time for riddles."

"Oh, I beg to differ. It is the time for the conundrum of them all. How is it one can slay without killing? How can one take the very air without stealing breath? _The_ Alice will know," Absolem waved his pipe towards the parchment, "the Oraculum foretells it. The sole doubt – which Alice will come back…?"

Growing more uncomfortable by the second as his brain spun the solemn words round and round in his head, Tarrant finally came to such a startling understanding that he blinked in silence for several moments, his eyes turning an astonished mossy green. "That's—no. Utter madness. Sheer madness. Cannot be done. Can't. Won't." Crumpling his top hat in his hands, he twisted it to the rhythm of the swirling chaos in his head. Eyes once again a tormented, burnished orange, he croaked, "Do not. You cannae ask it of her."

"The destined path of queens and champions is never easy." Cheshire's voice crooned softly in his ear. "Trust in her fortitude."

"She's nae yet twenty."

"Perhaps in human years. When has in Underland age ever held a sway?"

"I willnae have a hand in this."

"She must have guidance to succeed."

"Then yer should do your own dirty work." Jamming his hat on his head, Tarrant turned on his heel, jaw tightly clenched, face marred by a fierce scowl.

"They both trust you like no other."

"They do so for a reason."

"This is no betrayal, Hightopp."

"Not to you."

"You should consider the alternative. That cost will bear a far more weighty burden; a toll we shall endure, one and all."

"Then we will fix it, _one and all_." Throwing a measured look over his shoulder, Tarrant bit out, "Until such time should come, this matter is forgotten. Whether she be _the, _or _a, _or_ not quite_, she is _Alice_. And she, as I, will never see it fit to risk Mirana's life."


End file.
